


glamour doesn't always start with glitter

by ProfMyrtle



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon, Undertale Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 05:03:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5444270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfMyrtle/pseuds/ProfMyrtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The mystery key ended up in the garbage somehow. Pre-canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	glamour doesn't always start with glitter

**Author's Note:**

> This is my secret santa gift for ayoomi-shinozaki on Tumblr's RPGMaker Secret Santa! Merry Christmas~! I hope you like your gift.

You don’t need the key.

You don’t need to do this either, really; it’s just ceremony. Pure symbolism and subtlety. How very unlike you.

But it’s private and quiet down here by the waterfalls flowing into the trash dump, so oddly the only ceremony you can liken this to would be a funeral. You hate the thought of that, although you’ve only been to a rare number of funerals. Ghosts, being incorporeal, don’t usually turn to dust when they die. Of course, you were curious and somewhat charmed by the notion at first… But they all ended up the same; solemn huddles in packs of two, tears and howling, and the deceased’s essence scattered over their most cherished item. It was a decidedly unglamorous way to exit the mortal coil.

Thinking about it, if you were to die it would most certainly have to be in a blaze of glory so that all of you could be spread out to the Underground. Perhaps a few specks would be carried to the surface by some wayward draft, too, if you were so lucky.

But you’re not. Lucky, that is. You don’t need luck, just talent and a surplus of brilliant ideas, of which you have both.

But still, there’s the key, weighing you down to the past. Odd, for such a mere sentimental object. It has no real purpose, except to perhaps keep any non-ghost monsters from entering your house, but locked doors and _walls_ mean nothing to you or your cousin. Ghosts can go through anything, except the barrier, but that’s only due to its magical nature. Well, most likely; you’ve never really tested it.

Ah, but you’re digressing in your thoughts. Putting this off, even if it’s unnecessary, is the only thing keeping you from going. It’s like there’s a ball-and-chain attached to your soul.

Therefore, before your thoughts can circle themselves in convincing you against this whole endeavor, you let go of the key over the falls. It drops slowly, it seems, suspended in the air until it’s swallowed by the dark. If you could breathe, you might exhale slowly in relief.

Well, until you realized that instead of a telltale splash, there’s a strangely recognizable “Ow!”

Perplexed, you float down, following the course of the waterfall towards the nearest and highest mountain of trash. It takes only a cursory look to find the source; a reptilian monster, buttercup yellow with a fat tail and overbite. She’s readjusting her glasses and rubbing one of her spikes. “Alphys—” You start, but she’s especially high strung today, and immediately balks and your voice, and nearly sends her glasses flying.

“Darling, it’s just me,” you say with a laugh, drawing closer to her slowly. It could be read as cautious, but no, you’re just being graceful.

“Oh,” is all Alphys says at first. You can see one of her chewed up claws digging at a loose scale. You want to tell her to stop that, but you know it’ll just make it worse. “Um,” she tries to say, eyes darting to the underfoot of garbage, before picking something up. If you could sigh, you would. You just want to forget about your ruined theatrics right now. “I th-think you dropped this.”

Of course, it’s the key.

You try to weigh your responses a little. Your friendship has been brief, it feels, since you first met at that failure of a culture club. Most of it had been shared between your love of human stars on stage, wild hair and countertenors, and Alphys strange cartoons, although you can appreciate the fighting swordswoman one some. Still, you’ve come to know each other a little, and you know by now what kind of responses are the ones that dig her hole of anxiety deeper. Admittedly, you probably picked up some of that from Blooky’s own issues, too.

“On purpose, darling. I never do anything on accident. I just make it look that way,” you say evenly. You take the key out of her hands gently, absorbing it into your champagne pink presence. A good party trick for ghosts, in your experience.

“R-really? Why?” She asks, anxiety melting away into curiosity and… concern, it looks like.

“Why, indeed,” you say, giving yourself time to think over the proper response. “I’m sure you remember that one movie, with the old human drops the necklace into the ocean where it belongs. I couldn’t truly understand why she did that until recently.”

Alphys digs her teeth into her lip, confused. You remember she had disliked that movie, completely inconsolable during it. Afterwards, she had showed you a cartoon rendition of it, with talking animals and a happier ending, and said it was the more historically accurate one. You didn’t debate that one. Still, she gives it some thought before responding. “W-well, probably for the sake of closure. I mean, even if she didn’t like it or could have thrown it away anytime she wanted to, it was important that it went back to where it belongs. I guess?” she says.

That’s what you like about her, really. Even if most of her excitement and passion was reserved for more two-dimensional characters, that analytical side was still present. And that’s good. You need that from someone. You’ve always longed for someone that was at least willing to discuss the finer points of human culture, but it’s even better that she puts such thought into it and discusses things.

“Spot on as always, Alphys,” you say, excited. Closure. It’s such a simple word, but it’s perfect and you can’t help but twirl a little as you explain. You wish you had arms to thrust up, gesture with. Legs to swing, and so you could hip check Alphys playfully. “Nothing is more dramatic and fulfilling than throwing away your more treasured items into the darkest depths, never to be seen again! Why, it’s more than throwing away your past, but something that’s become a part of you; an unwanted memory, a guilty conscience, or even something secret you never wanted to acknowledge. In short, it makes a good story,” you conclude.

Alphys nods a little, although it’s half-hearted, while she waits for you to finish. She clears her throat and shifts her eyes. “Well, that’s nice and all, but, uh. It won’t stay hidden here,” she says nervously. “I-it’d probably get washed downstream eventually, and then Bratty and Catty would end up finding it.”

That sours your fantasies somewhat, and you make a face surely, but still. “By that time it’ll be a novelty and collector’s item. They could sell it for a small fortune, I guarantee.”

“Oh, they probably will,” Alphys says knowingly. “A-anyway, are you sure about this? B-becoming corporeal is a big deal for ghosts, right? A-and I don’t want you to do this just because of pr-pressure, or something.” She’s talking herself down again. It’s a terrible habit, that much you know, but all you can do is try to assure her as a friend.

“Darling, I’ve wanted this for a long time, you know. But finding something suitable, even _decent_ , in the Underground for a ghost of my caliber is nigh impossible. Could you even imagine me— beautiful _me_ —as a training dummy or suit of armor?” Atrocious, truly. Another cousin of yours became a training dummy and never felt so much secondhand embarrassment as you had before then. The armor was even worse, however; echoing, ugly clanging with every step. You don’t even _want_ to imagine that, and yet here you are for the sake of a friend. You’re much too generous.

“And besides,” you go on, “I don’t know how, but you completely captured my vision for the perfect body. Oh, of course, a few tweaks here and there, but I was floored by the design. You’re an absolute genius, Future Dr. Alphys.” You’re half-teasing, half-serious on the last part.

Your work pays off, somewhat. Alphys smiles, although it’s a little on the shaky side, but a victory is a victory. “I-I guess so, yeah. Thanks, um. Sorry.”

“Hush, now. No apologies.” You float up a little higher now, starting to gain altitude. “We’ve got a lot of work to take care of, and so little time.” You don’t go very far, not even halfway to the top of the falls, before you let go of the key. It’s not as melodramatic as before, but the gesture is there, and enough descent to create a satisfying _splash!_ “I’ve got a brand new body to take to, and you’ve got a king to impress. Maybe more, if you’re lucky.”

“Ohmygod,” Alphys says, claws covering her face, which is turning cherry red as she catches the obvious implications. “ _Stop._ ”

“Never.”

 

 

If— _When_ they film your origin story, you think you might cut out a scene like this altogether. It’s not dramatic enough, too silly and out of place for the story of a robot with a soul. It makes no sense canonically and all the critics would definitely pan the film for it alone.

Not to mention, it’s just too personal to share with the world. You’d bare your soul, bare your whole body, but some mysteries are better left as they are.

**Author's Note:**

> \- Yes, Alphys and Mettaton are referencing James Cameron's Titanic, along with the atrocious animated version with talking animals.
> 
> \- This changed a lot from my original draft, mostly because I had the foresight to due a short review of canon before finishing. OH WELL.
> 
> \- This is in second person because I can't shake my headcanon that Mettaton started calling himself that _after_ he got his new body, and I got sick of writing of just writing 'he' and I hate epithets, SO. It's quite refreshing, tho. I might experiment more with this POV.


End file.
